


life as an association game

by Lomonte



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Homesickness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Panic Attacks, Toph Beifong and Zuko are Siblings, hand holding, hes really trying but he just got here and now theres four more children he has to adopt its a lot, if its shaped like a father figure zuko is going to give it the sideye and thats a promise, me writing this: theyre all children.... oh my god theyre all children, no beta we die like idiots, readable if you dont ship, sokka is perceptive and smart when he needs to be, the gaang: zuko we dont think ur all that bad, zuko: ... i dont know what that means im shaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25716349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonte/pseuds/Lomonte
Summary: [ There’s an intake of breath, like Zuko is going to say something, but it stays quiet between them. He's gathering the courage to say something, and Sokka is going to try and be patient, even though he doesn’t have a lot of practice in it."I think my father is abusive."And Sokka almost laughs at that, just out of sheer misery.]Things aren't the same after their little fieldtrip to the Boiling Rock. Sokka tries to navigate.
Relationships: Hinted Sokka/Zuko, Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 1577
Collections: Koi’s atla fic recs, avatar tingz





	life as an association game

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for: past child abuse, panic attacks, implied ptsd

Things aren’t the same after their little fieldtrip to the Boiling Rock.

Of course they aren’t.

Suki and dad (and Chit Sang, who, surprisingly, proved himself to be an excellent cook, thus quickly falling into their good graces) are back and the weight that had been crushing Sokka ever since the invasion finally lifted a little seeing Katara run into their dad’s arms. He spent the entire evening of their return chatting and joking with Suki while leaning against his dads solid chest. It made him realize how much he’d truly missed them. The feeling carried into the next few days. He sparred with Suki (and then hugged Suki), planned with dad (and then hugged dad), and sat around the campfire with the whole Gaang as they exchanged stories. 

Naturally, things changed between him and Zuko too. There had been no real animosity between them (well, none of the biting, sharp sort Katara carried around with her) before they went off galivanting to Boiling Rock, but the outing had actually made them friends, at least in Sokka’s eyes. Something about breaking loved ones out of a maximum security prison with no plan or backup made for perfect bonding experiences. They had earned each other’s trust, and Zuko had helped Sokka redeem himself and bring two of the most important people in his life back, so (whether Zuko liked it or not) they were friends now. A sentiment only cemented by seeing Zuko passed out while Toph used him as a personal space heater after Sokka had finished his grand retelling of the events of their grand escape.

“He’s colder than usual,” Toph had hissed at him while she clamped her little arms around his chest.

“They put him in a freezer,” Sokka had replied, a little stumped.

Toph squished her cheek into ~~the~~ her firebender’s side at that and Sokka had wondered how he had missed them growing close.

Between Aang chatting Zuko’s ears off and dragging him around the empty halls of the temple and Toph decidedly claiming him as hers, Sokka didn’t get enough time to annoy the guy for his liking.

Sure, there were the fire bending lessons with an overly eager-to-please Aang where he could throw insults from the sideline, but it wasn’t the same. Zuko would be too distracted to really react or retaliate, so where was the fun in that. Zuko was the only boy his age in the temple, and as much as he loved Aang, it was so, _so_ nice to have a boy his age around. It was something he’d missed dearly ever since his dad and all the other men had packed up and left the village to sail to the other side of the world. 

Even Suki seemed to warm up to him after some time spend weary in solidarity with Katara. After a day or so she had asked Zuko to spar (‘no bending, see if you can beat me without cheating,’) and subsequently kicked his ass four times in a row. After that, most bad blood seemed to have been forgotten. They liked to band together to egg on Sokka and they brainstormed about the best ways to protect oneself from fire bending attacks.

Things shifted, and even though there was a war looming, they all seemed happier.

Zuko seemed extremely overwhelmed.

Not all the time, and not because of the whole _‘looming war against his family and country that is going to decide the fate of the world’_ thing either. It was because of them.

At times, when people talked to him or, god forbid, touched him, he very much looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He would freeze when Toph tackled him into a hug after not seeing him for a few hours, even though she snuggled up to him every evening and demanded piggyback rides (‘payment for burning my feet, Sparks,’). He would stare at Aang with wide eyes when he gave him a compliment or referred to him as a friend, and when multiple people looked at him or asked him for his opinion on something he would stutter and look like a wild deer-cat caught in torchlight. 

Sokka, while sympathetic, didn’t think much of it. He quietly imagined empty palace halls and crazy sisters + entourage and figured it was understandable for Zuko to be a bit at a loss. It also wasn’t like Zuko disliked _them_ or the attention, it just genuinely looked like the guy didn’t know what to do with them, like he didn’t understand. It made Sokka a bit sad, but he guessed that if they just kept up what they were doing right now, he would settle into it eventually.

Sokka decided to keep an eye on him though.

Which is why he shortly noticed that Zuko was acting _extra_ weird around dad.

He had noticed it as early as the journey home from the Boiling Rock on the war-balloon. Zuko had eyed Hakoda mistrustfully as he walked around the cabin and Sokka had chalked it up to his suspicious nature and getting used to new faces. Maybe he would’ve taken offence on his dad’s behalf if he’d cared, but at that moment there were more important things on his mind.

He had expected Zuko to snap out of it with time, to see how totally awesome his dad was and to look up to him and like him like everyone else did. 

And at first Sokka thought it was the same way Zuko had behaved around the others when he was getting used to them, but upon closer review he decided it definitely wasn’t. Whereas Zuko usually looked lost or out of his depth with them, he looked at Hakoda with… dread. Like he was waiting for something to happen and getting himself ready for it.

On the second day after their return from the Boiling Rock Toph had stomped over to him and dragged him off to a quiet corner of the temple.

“Did something happen between Sparky and your dad during your little prison adventure that you did not tell me about?” she’d demanded, not beating around the bush.

Sokka had sighed and rubbed his brow and informed her that no, nothing happened but that he’d noticed something was off too.

“His heart always beats like that of a rabaroo,” she’d said, a little softer, “but it goes crazy when he’s around your old man.”

They kept an eye (or foot) out after that. 

Toph had been right (of course), and Sokka noticed how Zuko always kept an eye on Hakoda, how he never turned his back on him, how he got quiet when dad joined a conversation. The weirdest thing was, and Sokka couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that before, is how Zuko would avoid his dad as best as he could _unless_ Sokka or Katara were around. Then he would always be close. On guard.

It churned Sokka’s stomach after the penny had dropped; the thought that Zuko felt that he and Katara needed protection from their own father, who was kind and gentle and loved them and would never lay a wrong hand on them, and it hurt that this was something that was so foreign to his friend.

He made a show of hugging his dad when Zuko was around; laughing and just being comfortable around his father, to show that _hey, this is normal, buddy, its safe_.

Honestly though, Sokka should’ve probably just talked to Zuko about it, should’ve tried to let him know his view of what fathers were was twisted and contorted and wrong. He hadn’t, even though he really wished he had when it finally came to a head.

They had all been gathered around the campfire, talking after dinner like they usually did. Haru had taken it upon himself to force Teo and The Duke to go to bed after they had been running around around the temple halls all day and had excused himself shortly after.

The rest of them probably should’ve gone to bed as well; it was late, they were tired. But around the campfire they could always pretend thing were normal.

They would laugh and joke and not talk about the war. It was a little normalcy they were allowed, and they just wanted to stretch it for as long as they could. Sokka knew he and Katara felt the same about spending (simple, normal) time with dad as well, so they were all reluctant to leave.

But, again, it was late, and Sokka had said something dumb, something he doesn’t even remember, and Katara had said something snarky back which he would’ve normally taken in stride but he was cranky (should’ve gone to bed) and she was chuckling at his expense and Sokka couldn’t bite his tongue.

He called her a name with a little more vitriol than usual. Aang tried to pacify which didn’t sit right with Sokka _at all_ because he always sided with Katara anyway, because of their stupid little crush. Suki had slapped him on the arm for that one which was incredibly unfair and Katara had gone all red to match Aang and now his dad was trying to keep the peace but he was siding too much with Katara for Sokka’s liking- which he always did because Katara was _the little sister_. Of course Katara went on to tell him he should listen to _a real leader,_ which made Sokka leap from his mat to do _something,_ he didn’t even know what exactly but he was mad, plain and simple. Sibling rage.

Through all that he hadn’t even noticed how Zuko had gone pale and how his wide eyes darted between him and Katara and his dad until Toph had called his name from the other side of the fire which made Sokka pause, but not his dad who had stood up from where he had been sitting, standing over them with drawn eyebrows and downturned lips. 

He raised his hand in a manner Sokka knew was placating but Sokka also knew what it would look like to Zuko, and then his dad raised his voice to tell them to calm down and was quickly cut off by a figure shooting forward like an arrow out of a strung bow with flaming fingers that stopped ten inches in front of his chest. Zuko looked up at Hakoda with intense, almost feral eyes.

Katara had yelled out in alarm at the same time Aang yelped at the sudden commotion. Toph had called his name before he had even moved.

“You won’t hurt them,” and his voice was shaking and his dad had looked at the boy in front of him like he’d grown a second head and this was all Sokka’s fault. It got quiet after that, Katara holding a bubble of water in the air but caught off guard by Zuko’s words. The silence stretched until Hakoda swallowed and slowly raised his other hand in surrender.

“I was never going to hurt them, son,” the word leaving him before thinking twice of it. Sokka flinched at the same time Zuko did. He was breathing fast.

“How can you-” he lowered his hand a little but the flames didn’t dissipate, “You were going to-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Hakoda’s face is a picture of heartache. The spectators look at the exchange with wide eyes.

“Zuko, I have never and will never lay my hands on one of my children. No parent should ever,” and it’s a bit ham-fisted but at least it’s clear and Zuko looks at him with open horror and takes a step back as his hand falls.

“I’m-” he can’t finish his sentence and his dad reaches out at the same time Sokka does because he’s seriously worried about how fast Zuko’s breathing now and Toph calls Zuko’s name again which makes the boy snap out of whatever it was he had been in and he looks Sokka in the eye and-

Zuko flees.

* * *

He finds him at one of the outer edges of the temple, eyes gazing into the valley and legs dangling over the ledge. Sokka makes sure to make his footsteps noticeable, and hums as he sits next to Zuko on his right side. Sokka isn’t certain, but he’s pretty sure Zuko’s hearing and sight aren’t a hundred percent on his left. It’s why Toph always punched him on his right arm and Sokka always tried to land a good hit on his left when they were sparring.

“Hey,” he greets him when Zuko doesn’t make a move to acknowledge him.

“Hey,” Zuko echoes, fidgeting absentmindedly with his tunic as his eyes flit across the treetops below them.

The sky above them is turning a dusty purple, still colored by the last rays of sunshine as the sun itself disappears behind the horizon. Sokka knows that behind him stars are already visible. Little dots of light against the dark blue; constellations his father knew like the back of his hand, constellations that Sokka was getting more and more familiar with.

He’d always liked the art of charting and using the stars as a map. Not only was it a practical skill to have, it was also something he held close to his heart. The tradition went back uncountable generations and his father and gran-gran had tried to teach him all they knew for as long as he could remember. When Sokka was feeling homesick or too big for his body or so shaken that he for sure thought he was going to shatter, he would lay himself down and look up at the vast night sky and imagine he was home. Like everything was normal and comfortable and safe. Where his people were, where his family was.

He would always pretend the stars weren’t off.

When he turns his gaze back to Zuko he seems just as lost in thought as Sokka, a slight frown on his features and tense shoulders.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

He says it softly, but Zuko still flinches a little, as if he had forgotten Sokka was sitting right next to him. He turns to look at Sokka and blinks.

“I’m sorry I ran off.” His voice sounds a little raspy.

Sokka shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and he means it. Yes, Sokka would’ve rather had he didn’t, that he’d stayed and explained, but Sokka understood. 

Zuko frowns.

“But your father, he’s not-”

He looks confused, suddenly close to exasperated, like he knows the answer, knows Hakoda isn’t angry at him, but just doesn’t- _can’t_ understand it.

Sokka’s forced smile is not as convincing anymore.

“He’s not offended, or mad or anything. He’s just concerned.”

Zuko shakes his head. Sokka continues.

“He wanted to check up on you, but Toph wouldn’t let him, you know how she gets,” Sokka chuckles at the end because that was a joke, and he’s trying to lighten the mood because he’s supposed to be good at that, but it feels a little off.

“She sent me instead. Dad told me to tell you he apologizes for raising his voice like that.”

Apparently his dad had kept an eye on Zuko from the start. He had berated himself for yelling after Zuko had run off, telling himself he should’ve known better while Katara assured him it wasn’t his fault. Sokka didn’t know if he agreed or not.

Zuko just shakes his head again and looks back into the valley.

Sokka lets his legs swing back and forth as they lapse into silence once more. Normally Sokka wasn’t the best with those. He always felt the need to fill them up, did so almost unconsciously. He’d always get some slack about it from the adults at home, and he remembers his dad fondly calling him a magpie-gull as he’d ruffled his hair. Now though, Sokka found he didn’t mind.

Looking at the scenery, softly lit but darkness creeping up fast, quiet but for the whisperings of the wind weaving through the leaves and the soft sounds of the nocturnal waking up, it felt natural. It felt fitting. Evenings like this were reserved for companionable silence and softly spoken conversations, just loud enough to carry over the crackling of a campfire. 

There’s an intake of breath, like Zuko is going to say something, but it stays quiet between them. He's gathering the courage to say something, and Sokka is going to try and be patient, even though he doesn’t have a lot of practice in it. It pays off eventually.

"I think my father is abusive."

And Sokka almost laughs at that, just out of sheer misery. He wants to say _‘no shit’_ because they literally all figured as much, especially after his little moment at the campfire. He wants to say _‘good for you for finally figuring it out_ ’. He wants to say _‘you think?’_. He wants to say _‘I know’_. He kinda really wants to give him a hug.

Instead he just purses his lips into something that barely passes as a smile and moves a little closer to Zuko as something grim looms over his shoulders. Not touching, but close enough to feel the others heat.

"Yeah," he just says softly, “I think so too,” and looks out over the valley.

The trees sway softly in the chilly evening wind, and Sokka thinks he spots an owl-bat darting from branch to branch. They just sit there for a moment, taking in the view. Existing, next to each other, legs dangling over the ledge.

Sokka doesn't say anything else, doesn’t want to start the conversation back up himself. He wants Zuko to feel free and comfortable to continue, to expand on the thought when he’s ready. And even if he leaves it at that, that’d be fine too. He just wants Zuko to do this on his own terms. Sokka will also be the first to admit he’s not the best at coming up with comforting words anyway. He has no idea what to say; what would be too little, what would be too much. The thing between them is fragile and new and he’s not yet sure how to shepherd it. He isn’t the best at this, but for Zuko, who Sokka thinks needs him right now, he’ll try his best.

Zuko rambles sometimes when he's feeling awkward or shy and he mutters or shouts when he's angry, but when he's sharing something personal, when he's being introspective, he's always searching for the right words. Picking and choosing carefully, clumsily. Sokka gives him his time.

Zuko sighs next to him, deflates a little. He moves his hands back a bit and leans on them. His hand his close to Sokka’s, their fingertips almost touching.

“Your dad,” he starts, and the word sounds awkward on his lips, “Is also... A dad.'

And Sokka can't help the snort that escapes him at that. Zuko turns his face to him and frowns, but its good naturedly, and it makes Sokka’s fingers reach out the hand laying close. Zuko doesn’t move away.

“I mean,” Zuko breathes, “I'm not used to it.”

Zuko’s gaze hasn’t left his but Sokka sorta wishes it had because Zuko looks confused and uncertain and open in a way that makes Sokka’s chest feel tight. Sokka tries to look understanding and patient, and maybe he succeeds because Zuko continues.

“You know at first,” he huffs a humorless laugh that Sokka doesn’t like, “when I saw you with Katara… How you two argued and stuff… This may sound bad, but in the first few days I thought she was going to hurt you.”

Sokka wants to respond, wants to make it very clear that he and Katara would never intentionally hurt each other, that the idea of real violence between them is an alien and inconceivable one, that resentment and hurt are not the norm in sibling relationships and that a shouting match should end in a hug. That they got each other’s back. He doesn’t say this, he can’t, he’s too busy trying to keep his facial expression schooled into something decent, and it would feel like rubbing it in anyway. Like talking about a healthy familial relationship would be flaunting. Sokka clenches his jaw and breathes out through his nose.

“You know Katara would never hurt me, right?” Sokka is surprised by how steady and soft his voice is. “We would never intentionally hurt each other.”

Zuko turns his face away again, staring at a spot far away in the trees.

“I know.”

Something unwinds in Sokka at the firmness in Zuko’s voice; he knows.

“But with Chief Hakoda…” Zuko bites his lip and stops himself.

Sokka squeezes his hand. 

“It’s harder,” he supplies for him.

Zuko’s voice cracks. “Yeah.”

He hasn’t moved his hand away, and he’s leaning a bit to the right even though he’s tense, so Sokka counts it as a win. Zuko swallows.

“He doesn’t look at all like my father,” which Sokka is very happy to hear, “but he still reminds me, you know?”

Sokka didn’t know, but he could understand. He thinks it might be a little like the pang of jealousy and longing he feels when he sees someone his age with their mother. It’s about what you know, association, as everything. But different. Bad.

Truth is, Sokka can’t imagine any scenario wherein his family would hurt him. Hurt him just because they felt like it or as punishment or out of habit.

But he does know fear.

He knows how it lingers, knows how it warps and muddles. How it follows and sinks its claws into your skin, and when it finally lets go the wounds don’t just stop bleeding. There’s things to be cleaned up and phantom pains that will maybe never quite leave. Fear has associated with things around you, made something that should be innocuous a warning sign.

Sokka hates that he knows.

Quite suddenly and very fervently he hates that he knows about fear and the aftershock.

He hates that a raised hand is enough to send Zuko spiraling, he hates that Toph sometimes shakes until you hold her, he hates that Aang always has trouble sleeping, he hates the way Suki’s lips tremble when she talks about ‘her girls’, and he hates that his own little sister (who he was supposed to protect just like dad asked of him, who he _failed_ ) stares at her own hands with wide eyes when the moon is full. He hates the man that put them through all that.

He’s never been very good a hating. It’s such a final word for someone who liked to think himself easygoing. But, man, if he’s to hate one thing on this earth, it’s the unfairness of this war. ‘ _Hate is a big word_ ’, gran-gran reminded him, one finger in the air.

Sokka _hates_ Ozai.

He thinks sometimes big words exist for a reason.

“I get it, man,” he settles on.

Zuko gives him a pinched not-smile which quickly falls again.

“My father did bad things. Is doing bad things, to everyone. He’s…” he bites his bottom lip, glances at Sokka and curls a little more into himself.

“You must wonder why I would _ever_ want to go back to him. Why I… why I did.”

He says it with a pale face and pursed lips so Sokka, instead of indeed demanding an explanation, just breathes heavy through his nose.

It’s enough. Zuko gives himself a sharp nod, once, as if to hype himself up.

“He… My father has never really cared about me.”

He says it bluntly, as if it’s a common truth.

“I was shy as a kid, hid behind my mom’s robes. It infuriated him.”

It’s the first time Zuko mentioned his mother to him, and Sokka doesn’t miss the morose coating on the word, the grief. He will ask another time. 

“He hated that I couldn’t bend, and then when I did he hated that I wasn’t as good as he wanted me to be.”

Zuko pulls his legs up from the ledge and shifts his feet closer to hug his knees to his chest. His hand slips out of Sokka’s. He’s pointedly avoiding his gaze now, but the gold of his eyes is intense.

“He hated that I couldn’t recite my history lessons or my katas, and he hated that I fed the turtle-ducks and read the theatre scroll mom bought me.” His nose scrunches at this, his voice becomes a little more acerbic.

“He hated that I cried when people yelled, he hated that I stammered in front of an audience, he hated that I would hide from him when he was angry, he hated it when I spoke at the table, he hated that I wasn’t as efficient of a weapon as I could’ve been and he hated that I liked my uncle-,”

The tirade, the litany, halts at the crack of his voice on the last word and he squeezed his legs tighter, buries his chin in deeper. The muscles in Sokka’s throat are tense and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He can’t open his mouth.

Zuko sniffs. He isn’t crying.

“But sometimes…” he shakes his head. It’s such a small movement Sokka almost missed it.

“Sometimes he would put his hand on my shoulder, and look down at me and _squeeze_ ,” his tone was almost wistful, “he didn’t smile, but I’d look up and I could pretend he’d look… pleased.” Zuko swallows at the same time Sokka does. Sokka’s throat is dry like gravel.

“And it was enough,” he finishes with downturned lips and downcast eyes and hair falling into his face.

They just sit there. It’s close to nightfall. The sky in front of them is finally dark enough to allow the light of the stars to travel uninterrupted and Sokka lets his eyes dance over the patterns. Zuko is looking down at the trees in the valley. Sokka thinks of his father. He understands.

“Your dad is a dick,” he starts eloquently and something unwinds as the corners of Zuko’s lip curl upward, “and he knew exactly what to do to keep you as close as he needed to, while still being the biggest asshole he could be.”

Zuko seems to consider this.

Sokka knows Ozai is a foul human being- has known this. The fire lord actions in this war speak for themselves. Ozai has a heavy hand in harming this world in unthinkable ways, spreading this vanity-war. He is the reason all of their lives have been disrupted and the reason they have all been out camping for months trying to gear up to do the impossible. Oh, Sokka knows Ozai is as evil as it gets. Yet, for some reason there’s something about the thought of him hurting his friend (his friend!) with his own hands of flesh and skin. How he hurt him with his actions and words, how he hurt his son as a father, in a way that is so personal and close. It’s different from the picture of him sitting in a room and ordering people to commit atrocities for him. It’s not clinical or warmongering or bureaucracy, its putting your hands on a child, the one you’re supposed to protect at that. It unlocks some last level of _something_ in Sokka’s chest that makes him shiver; like Ozai finally managed to do it all, to lose any semblance or chance of being a human being worth anything.

Sokka knows with painful clarity that there is only one person in the fire nation that has the authority to burn the crown prince.

“Doesn’t that make me a fool then?” Zuko huffs, but it isn’t very intense or woeful. It sounds like a genuine question. “To let him play me like that?”

Sokka sighs.

“No. It just makes you a kid.”

Zuko loses all of the tension in his frame as if that sentence singlehandedly wore him out. One leg slips back to dangle over the ledge and on the other Zuko rests his cheek. Their eyes meet and Sokka feels just as tired as Zuko looks. It strikes him that he’s never seen Zuko like this. Off guard and ruffled; relaxed even if it stems from exhaustion.

Zuko looks at him with shiny eyes and Sokka’s heart perks up and whispers to him as his friend gives him a soft smile.

He returns it without thinking.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry,” Zuko says, voice soft.

“I know,” Sokka answers, not able to muster up anything else. He’d work on it.

This time Sokka is the first to look away and he can feel Zuko’s gaze lingering until he breaks the silence with a jaw-cracking yawn. Sokka chuckles at him and Zuko throws him a very unconvincing glare.

“We should go to bed,” he says.

Zuko agrees with a hum.

Neither of them move.

Sokka kicks his legs back and forth on the breeze pulling at his ankles. Zuko rests his chin on his knee and looks ahead.

Sokka feels tired, and older than he should be. But right now it’s okay. He lets it hang around him for a while. He’ll shrug it off tomorrow morning, when the sun is shining and Aang is flying around and Momo is chattering as Katara is braiding a grumbling Toph’s hair and dad asks him and Zuko to show him some new moves, and when he lays a hand on Zuko’s shoulder he’ll only flinch a little.

Right now he allows the feeling to stay, wrapped around him like a parka. They look out over the greenery or into the sky. Sokka moves his arm to the left where Zuko’s open hand his already waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> during this conversation zuko was just repeating the "it was cruel and it was wrong it was cruel and it was wrong" mantra over and over again fyi  
> thank you for reading! this got a lil more introspective than i originally planned lmao. i adore sokka as narrator i think hes neat.  
> if you saw any mistakes pls lmk i am not how you say a native english speaker.  
> please yell at me in the comments!!!  
> my tumblr [main](https://www.helpmemarty.tumblr.com/) (helpmemarty) and [atla + animation](https://www.animationandshit.tumblr.com/) (beifonne) .


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